


The Case Of The Mattersdown Ball

by afteriwake



Series: Brought About By The Behind The Scenes Machinations Of One Mr. Mycroft Holmes [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Danger, Developing Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, F/M, First Kiss, Flirting, Invitations, It's For a Case, Molly Has A Crush, One-Sided Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Molly Hooper, Post-Episode: The Abominable Bride, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper Kissing, Surprise Kissing, changing relationship, morgues, or so it seems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-05-24 08:37:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14951297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: When Sherlock asks Margaret to help him with a case of his brother's by attending a ball with him, she has no idea of what to expect...and certainly never the change in her relationship with her new partner.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was asked by an Anon on Tumblr " _if you could write Victorian Sherlolly, maybe something involving a ball? Just anything really would be fine._ " I combined it with one of my surprise prompts (" _JE NE SAIS QUOI - (n.) a pleasing quality that cannot be exactly named or described_ ") for the summer prompt collection and added it to one of my established Victorian AUs that I've wanted to update for a while. Please enjoy, Nonny!

“Would you care to accompany me to a ball, Dr. Hooper?”

Margaret froze in the morgue at the familiar and now well-liked voice. After all, it was Sherlock who had helped her regain her post, or Sherlock’s brother. She wasn't entirely sure. But she was sure the illustrious Mycroft Holmes would never have deigned to help her if it had not benefited either he or his brother in some way. And their newfound partnership was something thrilling and exciting.

But a ball? That was a surprise, most assuredly.

“Is there a particular reason you are asking me, Mister Holmes?” 

“My brother has put me on a case for him, and I could use your skills at the event. I am not the most sociable of people, as you may be well aware.”

She could not hold back the soft laugh that came to her. “You are with me, Mister Holmes.”

“I have told you time and again to please call me by my given name,” he said.

“And _I_ have told _you_ that as long as you insist on tweeds in my morgue you are Mister Holmes,” she said, looking up at him with a warm smile. Oh, their dance from when she was Hooper and he was simply Holmes continued, but now with tweaks upon it that made her look at this dance with favour.

And perhaps the ball as well.

He relaxed. “Sometimes it is hard to tell when you speak in jest, _Dr._ Hooper,” he said, giving her a small smile of his own. “But regarding this ball. Will you accompany me? I could use your help greatly. It’s a matter of Queen and Country.”

“I’m to engage in espionage?” she asked.

“Eavesdropping, more than anything else,” he said. “It’s not proper for a gentleman to drift among the women and engage in conversation unless there is a woman he is actively courting, and even then there is to be a chaperone and other assorted nonsense. You can cut across those particular barriers more easily than I am able.”

She looked up from the body she had been studying and tilted her head. “Your proposition has merit, I suppose. No one will expect you to be courting after the ghost of Baker Street made that many appearances.”

“That is still following me, is it?” Sherlock asked, pride tinging his voice.

“Oh, it is. And now that I go back and forth as a woman and not as Hooper, most would expect you to be courting me, as I’m made of sterner stuff.” She gave him a smirk more than a teasing smile. “Not that you mind that, I can see.”

“It saves me the trouble of wife-hunting,” he said. “If I die a bachelor and you a bachelorette, at least we can have each other’s company into old age.”

“I suppose,” she said. “I’ll attend this ball with you, but I am not spending my own money on the gown. If you need me to help I insist you get me an appropriate gown.”

“I believe I can convince my brother that that is an appropriate expense,” Sherlock said with a nod. “Thank you, _Margaret_.”

She shook her head and waved him off. “Leave me to my autopsy and I’ll have more for you in about an hour or so. And then you can tell Detective Lestrade I’ll have results for him.”

“You do like me best,” he said with a smile before turning on his heel and leaving.

 _Yes, I suppose I do,_ she thought to herself, watching Sherlock leave. She liked him more than she truly wanted to admit and now that he was gone, she was wondering if her acceptance of this case with him would change things irreparably...and she fervently hoped it did not.


	2. Chapter 2

The gown that had been picked for her was a lovely lavender with a darker purple in various spots. She had wondered at the choice in colour, at first, before realizing if she was to eavesdrop she should not stand out, and as pasteled tones were currently preferred by the ton, pastels would allow her to be unnoticed.

She was just grateful it was not a costume ball. She had absolutely detested those in her season, unremarkable as it had been. She had been betrothed to a man who wanted to have his way with her before she was wed and when she refused he slandered her and tore her reputation to shreds. Her mother was appalled by her daughter's behaviour, not so much the supposed gentleman, but her father salvaged the situation by outfitting her in men's clothing and introducing Hooper as his long lost nephew, securing “him” a place in medical school and then the post at Barts before his passing.

She liked to think he would be proud of her now, despite the fact her mother was not. Who wanted their only daughter elbows deep in dead bodies when she could be married off to wealth giving her plump grandchildren?

That was never the life Margaret had wanted, nor was the one she'd had as Hooper, not really. What she had now was most satisfying indeed. Though perhaps it could be more satisfying…

She let her attentions drift away from the Countess who was talking incessantly of nothing of consequence to Holmes. She felt a momentary surge of jealousy as he was on the floor with a young woman until she caught a clear look at his face. He was absolutely bored to tears, but he knew the young lady was the daughter of the man they were to observe tonight for his safety. The dance had probably been part of the arrangement because she did look of an age.

 _Too young for Holmes,_ she thought to herself, allowing herself a small smile, when a glint caught her eye. Though the light was low in the morgue she would recognize the glint of light off a blade anywhere. She had no chance to warn Holmes and so she broke propriety and went up to the man holding the knife. Using a technique her eldest brother had taught her when she began masquerading as Hooper, she took the hand of the man holding the knife in hers and gripped and twisted at the same time.

The man roared in pain as he dropped the knife, causing the music to come to a halt, and he pulled a pistol from the waistband of his revolver and aimed it at her. She didn't even think and dove to her side towards the floor, grabbing the knife and sinking it into the man's thigh. He dropped to the ground just as Holmes came on the scene. “You nearly had a body upon your table tonight, Hooper, of your own making.”

“Well, it wouldn't be the first,” she said with a tinge of bitterness, not wanting to think about Emilia, not now. She had been the one to inflict the fatal wound on her friend to make sure it was medically a match to the supposed wound on the balcony, and she was sure by the look on Holmes’s face he understood that. She went to brush herself off after he helped her to her feet and saw blood had splattered onto her dress. “Such a lovely gown, too.”

“I'll have my brother buy you another,” Holmes said, ducking his head closer to his ear. “I think you have a grateful client who would like to speak to you.”

“To us,” she said, frowning.

“No, the game is still afoot. Keep him close; there may yet be another attempt before the evening is over.” And with that, Holmes slipped back into the crowd and Margaret had the feeling the next time she saw him he might not be so formally garbed. But as he said, the game was afoot, and she had a part to attend to.


	3. Chapter 3

“And once again, thank you for your courageous actions this evening, my dear,” her benefactor for the evening said as he led her to a small room upstairs to change out of the bloodied gown into something his wife had provided. She had been determined to do the duty set before her by Holmes and had done so in a ruined gown until word had come that the co-conspirator was caught and there was no more danger to their host for the evening. Then she had allowed for their delightful conversation to end and to be given suitable clothing and a carriage to borrow to go home.

“Think nothing of it, sir,” she replied with a smile.

“Mortimer, please,” he said patting her hand. “I will pass the recommendations on to the hospital board and fight tooth and nail for your morgue to have the accommodations you need.”

“If you insist,” she said. They paused in front of the door. “And should you let your daughter into nursing and she is at Barts, I'll keep in touch with her and make sure she settles in well.”

“They made the best decision to keep you on staff,” he said, lifting her hand up and kissing it. “Should you need anything else I'll have a maid nearby to attend you.”

“Thank you,” she said. He turned and left her to enter the room herself but she knew she was not alone, even in the darkness. She had her own personal sharpened hairpin in her hair and made to reach for it.

“It's just me,” Holmes said from a chair in the darkened corner. "I may have been injured in the course of the evening.”

Her eyes widened and her hands dropped to turn the lamp up more. True to her thought in the ballroom Holmes was no longer in his finery but instead in a servants uniform. There was blood pooling out on the white shirt he wore under the black jacket. “What happened?”

“Another knife, and unfortunately I was not as quick on my feet as you were.” He allowed her to peel the outer wear off of him and then hissed as she pressed against the wound. “The bleeding has stopped.”

“But there may be damage,” she said, her fingers moving quickly to remove the shirt from where the wound was. He allowed her to do this as well, and he was bare from the waist up with her practically in his lap to examine the wound before it hit her just how close they were. “You're not seriously injured,” she said, her mouth suddenly dry as she turned her face from his injured shoulder and settled on his lips. Damn it all, this was far beyond the level of intimacy she wanted.

No, she admitted to herself. No, it was not enough.

She leaned in and softly pressed her lips to his. A moment's hesitation was all there was and then his uninjured arm was wrapped around her waist, keeping her close as his tongue tentatively sought refuge past her lips. She moaned softly, opening her mouth to him as he deepened the kiss.

Soon they needed to break apart, catch their breaths as their chests were heaving and their foreheads pressed together. “I do believe I should do a proper job of courting you,” he said quietly, letting his injured arm move so his hands could touch her face.

“Not if I court you instead...Sherlock,” she said, earning herself a soft kiss in return. This could be quite thrilling, she thought as she kissed him back. Quite thrilling indeed...


End file.
